Whatever You Say
by Roguie
Summary: With a single kiss he'd stripped her of her will to resist, even if she didn't know it yet.  Set between Reprise and Glimpse.


Title: Whatever You Say

Author: Roguie/ Danae Bowen/ SunSpecOps

Fandom: Eureka

Characters: Jo/Zane

Rating: M - sex and bad language; not safe for work or kiddies.

Summary: With a single kiss he'd stripped her of her will to resist, even if she didn't know it yet. Set between Reprise and Glimpse.

Spoilers: Up to Glimpse.

Disclaimer: Eureka obviously doesn't belong to me, I just like to borrow the characters and mutate their inner voices. Please don't sue; my house is small, my car is useless and my dogs are pains in the arse, but they're all I have.

A/N: I'm not really sure where this came from, and I warn you in advance it's not my usual fluff with a dash of angst; this is more angst with a dash of smut, some whumpage, smothered in a fresh layer of angst. Regardless, I am exceptionally proud of the way this reads, and I can only hope you all enjoy it as I have. - on a lighter note, The Space Between will have a new part within the next few days, and I may have just blown my three little part promise out the frelling window.

A/N2: Reviews inspire my muse; I find Jo and Zane like a drug to her, but if they're the drug, reviews are the devil's whisper putting that needle in her arm. Please don't leave me hanging, and I promise in return that I won't leave you hanging.

**~~~E~~~**

This Zane Donovan was sex incarnate.

Since the day he'd burned down her house, since the night he'd kissed her without interruption, Jo had been lost. In the six months they'd been in this time line, she'd struggled to be who they needed her to be: strong Jo, determined Jo, Jo without love, Jo without Zane. She lost that the moment his fingers wrapped around her arm and pulled her to him; she'd destroyed all of that the moment she let their lips touch without battle, teeth and tongues coming together frantically, his hands sliding down her back to cup her ass, ripping a moan from her tortured chest.

Oh, she'd managed to walk away that night, panting, shaking, leaving him on the ground staring up at her in disbelief as she struggled to quickly close the buttons that had willingly come undone, dual expressions of pain crossing both their features as she ran for her car, abusing the transmission on the little Subaru as she sped home to SARAH, to the safety of her room. He'd not followed, not begged, he'd not even approached her the next day with a simple, What the hell was that, Lupo? He didn't call her a tease, or rag on her for being indecisive, instead he'd kept his distance, not even looking up when she purposely walked past his lab, desperately needing his attention.

She knew the moment he quit dancing their dance, when his gaze stayed focussed on his work rather than her arse when the chance presented itself, when she'd set herself up for one of his cutting comments to receive nothing more than a lifted eyebrow and shake of his head. She'd pushed him too far that night, farther than she should have allowed, but when the man she loved had taken her in his arms as the last vestiges of her home crumbled around them, there was no strength left to do the right thing. Only when her shirt had come undone, the bruising from the bullet strike she'd taken only hours before bringing a cry of pain to her lips, was she able to gather back together her shredded dignity and the shards of will power that forced her to her feet and away from the short minutes of escape he offered.

That's all it would have been that night, an escape from the harsh reality they needed to face - that no matter what song was playing, they'd never dance to the same beat. They didn't fit, didn't belong, if they gave in to each other then, their life would always be him burning her world down around her, waiting for the appearance of a woman that didn't exist. Not anymore. Not ever. When… if they ever came together, skin on skin, flesh to flesh, sweat and saliva mingling, bodies stretched and aching, she needed it to be this Zane whose name she'd cry out into the night and she needed it to be her name dying on his lips when his teeth cut into them, that beautiful expression of agony that she knew so well contorting his features that moment before he exploded deep within the confines of her body.

That didn't stop her from watching him, however, torturing herself day in and day out with what should have been hers yet couldn't ever be. She'd noticed it hours after meeting this Zane, the hard lines of his body, the way his skin stretched across muscles he'd never had before. The sleeveless shirts he wore to work out didn't help matters any, leaving her wanting so badly to reach out and run her fingers down the sweat drenched expanse of flesh exposed to her gaze each time he jogged past her, each time she made it impossible not to run into him as he wrapped up his exercise routine. Oh, how it hurt not to lean into his body, still over heated and out of breath, his heart pounding so heavily that her own was forced to match its rhythm, while his mere proximity sucked every ounce of air from the room. She'd caught herself just this morning, waiting for her order at Café Diem, as her fingers lifted of their own accord to brush a single salty droplet that traced down the lines of Zane's neck, pooling in the dip of his collarbone, begging for nothing more than her to close the distance between them and lick away the last traces of his exhaustion. He'd not said a word as her fingers froze a bare inch away from touching him and she'd curled them into a fist, dropping her hands to her side. If disappointment flickered in his cool, blue gaze, Jo couldn't allow herself to acknowledge it, so thin was her veil of determination, and instead she'd chatted to him about the unseasonable heat while Vincent hurried to make her coffee to go and send her on her way without an explosive scene.

So, they'd carried on, allowing a vast cavern of stubborn resolve to distance them, allowing Jo's questionable will power to stand for them both. They'd managed to avoid each other's company through out the morning, but when an experiment misfired, as they often do, and the explosion sent Zane hurtling far across the room, bouncing him first off the thick cement wall and then off the cold metal floor, Jo's resolve faded as she lifted his head into her lap, fingers stroking his unruly hair from his eyes.

His blood soaked through that silly, white, sleeveless shirt he wore under his flannel over shirt. His blood soaked through her power suit, staining the black fabric, staining the soft yellow blouse she'd worn for colour. She forced away her panic when the medics came, watching as they carried out the others injured, leaving Zane for last because in this timeline no one would miss the felon they'd been forced to harbour. She silenced the icy tendrils of terror that slipped around her heart, clutching at her, seizing the beat until each rush of blood through her veins became agonizing. She resisted the urge to scream at the medics until they made sure Zane was taken to the infirmary and placed into Allison's loving hands. She fought the need to shed the tears that threatened to escape the eyes she kept pinned on his face, whispering words she couldn't remember, trying not to notice the growing paleness of his skin.

When they did take him, she couldn't follow. She stood in the destroyed lab, bathed in his blood, hair fallen from it's familiar restraint, in shock with nowhere to turn. If she followed, there would be questions she couldn't answer. If she cried, there would be raised eyebrows that she couldn't ignore. If she broke down and screamed, they'd take her out on the next stretcher and she wouldn't be taken home. She was slowly losing her mind, standing in that lab as the fires were controlled and peace restored. She gave out orders numbly, answered questions without thought. No it wasn't her blood. Yes, she's sure she's fine. Take the two casualties to the morgue and notify Doctor Blake. No, nobody knows how Doctor so-and-so is doing, give the physicians time to do their work, inquiries can be made later. No, she didn't know what she'd do if Zane died.

Aw, fuck you, Carter. That was just uncalled for.

She let herself be led from the room by the arms of someone who loved her.

She let herself be walked from the building and sat out in the parking lot, away from cameras and prying eyes as her lungs filled too rapidly with air and she felt like she was going to suffocate on the oxygen.

When the world began to twist and spin before her eyes, she let herself be held by the uncomfortable Sheriff, the only one in the world who knew exactly how she felt.

"Alli's got him, Jo, she's not going to let anything happen to him. I promise." He looked her square in the eye. "Promise."

You can't promise that kind of shit, Carter, wish you'd stop thinking you can make a difference when God has His own plan.

The argument wasn't worth it, and the comfort he offered at least relaxed the vice grip in her chest, allowing her to begin breathing normally. When she'd calmed down, he helped her to her feet and back into Global, walking her to her office in silence, watching as she finished giving out the orders for the cleanup and containment.

"I'm gonna go check on Allison. Want an update on Zane?" he asked casually, moving to the door when he was certain Jo had come back to her self.

She merely shrugged. Did it matter, anyway? Their worlds had collided in such a way that if he were dead, she'd be destroyed, it was as simple as that. If he were alive, they'd pick up where they left off, starting their dance all over again, and a month from now she'd find herself in the very same position, wishing things had never changed, denying what she could have now for the memory of what she'd lost. In a perfect world, she'd take Zane home, murmur soft apologies for the way she'd behaved and tell him everything that Fargo had left out. She'd tell him that their relationship hadn't been perfect, but they were perfect together. She'd tell him how she'd lied when she told him they didn't fit, that her body moulded into the planes of his with such perfection that they'd never made love without a passion that could have brought tears to her eyes. She'd tell him how afraid she was of accepting his proposal, not because she was afraid they'd not last through time, but because his heart was so pure, so ready to sacrifice for the needs of others, that she was terrified one day he'd not come home and her eternity would stretch on without him in a realm of bleak despair. She'd tell him how much pain he'd caused her when he looked up at her, his eyes filled with hatred, and she knew she'd brought on the future she'd dreaded the most by her own actions. She'd tell him how badly her body ached for his touch, how her heart skipped a beat every time he was near, how her stomach clenched and her lungs rejected oxygen every time his eyes wandered to someone new. She'd tell him how he was killing her slowly, and beg him to love her in return.

It was a perfect world that didn't exist, and would never exist because he didn't want to hear it. He felt the pull between them, felt the colliding needs of their bodies, felt the air spark and light up around them when they kissed, but his heart didn't ache when they were apart like hers had every minute since they'd been separated. Without that, they had nothing but the physical, and that would never be enough to fill the black cavern he'd left in her soul.

She worked long into the night, her clothing growing crispy where it was covered in Zane's dried blood. Carter had come to tell her that Zane was resting and would be released the next day, that all of that blood had been from a scalp wound, and though he was concussed, he'd be fine. Zane had a thick head, after all. He asked her to come home, but she'd resisted, sending him on his way hours before she gathered her things and began the short journey to her car. She was exhausted, mentally, physically, emotionally exhausted, and she drove home on autopilot, past the charred ruins of her house, in the exact opposite direction of the smart house that was waiting for her.

The key to his apartment still hung from her chain, having travelled with her to 1947 and back again. She didn't care for the idea of going back to SARAH, of being asked a thousand questions, of seeing the pitying looks cross between Carter and Allison as they settled into their happy new life together. Zane would need clothing tomorrow for when he was released from the infirmary; since she was the closest thing he had to a friend, she had no doubt she'd be the only one thinking of his comfort in the morning. It only made sense to head to his apartment, let herself in, and if she slept on his sofa that night, well, she had good reason beyond the almost overwhelming need to envelop herself in his scent and dream, just for a little while, of the life they'd once had.

The Zanes, she found, were much the same; he kept his clothing in the same drawers, spare toiletries in the same closet, towels in the same laundry basket that never seemed to leave his spare room. It was second nature to step into the small washroom off his bedroom, turn the water to an unnaturally hot temperature knowing that the water heater in his building sucked and soon would turn the water luke warm and would make the bath tolerable. She laid a towel out on the floor as she stripped out of her ruined clothing, the soldier in her insisting she fold the fabric properly even if the shirt and suit would travel no further than the garbage when she was through. She glanced into the mirror, cringing slightly at the dark circles under her eyes, noting for the first time bruises that she'd developed at some point during the day, sighing while shaking her head and stepping into the warm water that awaited her.

Bliss.

Absolute bliss.

Jo didn't do the girl thing very often, but the one thing she loved more than anything else was the immediate release of tension from her body as she sank into overly heated water, closing her eyes against the day, letting the warmth take her away from everything. Her skin pinked almost immediately from the heat, and she slipped down lower, letting the water soak into her hair, washing out the remains of the explosion, rinsing away the negative emotions. When she was thoroughly relaxed, she leaned back against the tub, an arm up on either side as she closed her eyes, the familiarity of the very simple position enough to ease her into a quiet state that was less than sleep but not quite awake. Long minutes passed and the water cooled around her before she opened her eyes once more and stepped from the tub, olive skin glowing with heat and dampness, fluid muscles moving languidly as she wrapped a towel around herself and stepped into the next room.

He didn't question her presence in his home, and that was the first thing that struck her odd, not that he was laying across his bed, bloody, bruised and exhausted, eyes pinned to where she stood mostly naked, illuminated in the dark by the light of the bathroom behind her.

Her eyes sparked a moment of fear, a moment of joy, dread, trepidation, pain, desire, guilt, longing and challenge. She had no words to offer him, an explanation at this point would only seem weak. He'd stripped himself free of his own ruined clothing, the pile of bloody denim and flannel laying in a heap at the foot of his bed. The shorts that remained on his body did little to hide his arousal as he drank in the sight of her, his body instantly hard, the lightening that defined their relationship arcing the distance between them, electrifying the air. Still neither spoke as they waited for the other to move, to run, to concede.

Swallowing thickly, Jo turned, moving to his dresser and pulling a flannel shirt from one of the drawers. She escaped back into the washroom, a vision of calm to anyone watching until that door closed and she doubled at the waist, gasping for air that her lungs refused to take. Her fingers trembled as she dropped the towel to the floor, slipping the over sized shirt across her body, struggling to close the buttons, to hide away the flesh he'd not yet seen. The shirt fell to mid thigh, enough to give her some level of modesty, enough to give her the strength to walk from that room.

He hadn't moved and he hadn't relaxed. She could see the trembles that clenched his abdomen, his thighs, as he struggled not to touch himself. His fingers gripped the bed sheets tightly, but it was so subtle that only someone who knew his body better than their own would ever have noticed. Jo noticed immediately, and her body began to answer his call as if no time at all had passed between them. Her fingers curled into tight fists as moisture flooded her body against her will. Her nipples pebbled and hardened under the soft flannel as her body sang to his, the sudden pool of desire that knotted her stomach and pulled the air from the room threatening to drown her resolve and inhibitions. She stood frozen, unable to take those last steps forward, no longer possessing the will power to take the few steps back. Brown eyes locked with blue, and the last steps of their dance began.

When he gave into the needs of his body and moved his hand to cup his own hardness, stroking himself slowly, still holding her gaze, Jo's knees weakened, betraying her, forcing her to lean against the doorframe for support as she watched silently. She knew exactly what he liked, exactly how it would feel to hold the weight of him in her hand; if it were her fingers instead of his wrapped around the length of him, she would know exactly where to squeeze tightly to drag that ever familiar groan from his lips. She'd know exactly the moment to begin stroking him slowly, exactly the pressure he'd need to lose control of his body, to become a willing slave to her whims. His eyes fluttered as they watched the red flush begin at Jo's throat and rise up her face, darkening her olive skin, the caramel of her eyes turning onyx with a want so blatant, a need so powerful, he wasn't sure he'd make it long enough for her to decide. Just that look alone was enough to make him tighten, force him so close to the edge he was about to ruin everything, so he took his hand away, returning his fingers to the safety of his bedcovers, astonished when a raw whimper escaped her and her teeth closed tightly over her lower lip, drawing a small drop of blood when she bit down too hard.

Pheromones, he told himself silently. Adrenaline and pheromones. Never in his life had he been so close to coming just from watching a woman struggle with her want of him. Never in his life would it happen again. He'd nearly died today, his heart was pumping and her body was responding to his familiarity, telling him exactly what he needed to know. In the morning, it would be out of their system, they'd be able to make clear decisions again, but right now, he needed her in his bed, in his arms, her body wrapped so tightly around him that she may be the first person on Earth to make him believe in God. He didn't question how he knew what she'd feel like, he just knew, and his body began to scream with the absolute want of it, of her, Jo Lupo, the Enforcer, his JoJo.

To drive his point home, he stripped out of his shorts slowly, leaving himself entirely naked on that bed. When he settled down, adjusting his hardness, he met her gaze once more. The ball's in your court, JoJo; a silent challenge that she couldn't ignore.

When she finally broke, weakened knees crossing the few remaining feet between them, climbing over the foot of his bed, up his body to straddle him without comment, his frame began to tremble openly. She was so close to him that he could feel the heat radiating from her core, smell her excitement as it filled the air, and when she adjusted herself quickly to slide down upon him, her wet warmth surrounding him, gripping him, taking him inside her inch by inch, every well educated thought flew brilliantly from his mind and all he could focus on was the white light exploding in his brain, struggling to hold her gaze as she slowly settled atop him.

If it could have lasted for hours, he would have gladly lay in that bed for days, her knees gripping his hips, her ass in his hands as her wet, silky heat stroked him beyond all reason. Minutes was the best he could manage, and it was over as quickly as it had started. He may have died a moment as he came, he was certain his heart had stopped, his brain had stopped, his lungs had failed as he filled her, lightening blinding him, forcing him to close his eyes tightly as he fought to stay conscious in the force of a wave of emotion so scalding that he felt the burn in every single nerve ending in his body.

Still, they didn't speak. Jo slid off him, her fingers trailing down his chest as she shifted, laying out beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. She cursed her mind for not quieting, her own thoughts assaulting her when she should have been at peace, and she fought them with a diligence she didn't know she possessed. She didn't want to think of her Zane, her sweet Zane with his sparkling blue eyes and his earnest love for her. She didn't want to wake up from the dream of being in his arms to realize in the cold light of reality that she'd betrayed him in every way possible. She didn't want to consider the way her rampant thoughts betrayed the Zane lying next to her as deeply, if not more so in the end.

It was complicated. It could be ugly. She loved him so desperately that she wanted to do nothing more than cling to his body, listen to his heartbeat, reassure herself that in the morning he'd still be there and they could start over, rebuild what they once had.

Except they'd had nothing.

Not this Zane.

Not the man whose life had nearly been forfeit hours before, not the man whose heart beat with such strength under her ear.

She slept uneasily, twisting the sheets as she suffocated under the pressure of dreams that were memories, the memories of a man that she'd helped erase from time. When she woke, there were tears in her eyes, on her pillow, on Zane's shoulder and she struggled to climb out of the bed without waking him. Something else she failed at as when she returned from the washroom, still wearing his shirt but having pulled on her suit pants and socks in preparation to leave, his blue eyes were pinned to her, uncertain, hurt.

"Just this once," she murmured quietly. "This can't happen again."

She'd expected him to argue, expected a fight; she didn't expect him to nod, accepting her at her word.

"Okay."

She frowned then, shaking her head. "I'm being serious, Zane."

"I know."

He left her moving uncertainly through the apartment to get her shoes, startling her as he appeared, still naked in the doorway, watching as she opened his front door.

"Bring coffee when you come by tonight."

She stared at him silently, eyes wide, shaking her head in disbelief.

The man never listened to a word she said.

Not in any time line.

He grinned at her when she walked out the door, immediately reading the flash of frustration in her eyes and taking great pleasure in knowing he was the cause.

Jackass.

She wasn't going back that night. It was all pheromones and adrenaline last night. She wouldn't have that excuse again.

"Hey, Jo? Dinner too, something spicy."

"Yeah, yeah." she muttered, barely recognizing the fact she'd agreed. Silently she told her nattering conscience to fuck off. It was just coffee and dinner. Coffee and dinner didn't always lead to sex, and she'd made it pretty damn clear that last night was a one off. No repeat performance.

They were just friends.

With a single night of benefits.

She made the mistake of glancing back at the door, startled to find him standing there naked watching her leave, absolutely no sign of remorse in sight.

Didn't the man realize he had neighbours? His skin was pale in the bright sunlight of the early morning, the heat of the day already bringing a light sheen to his flesh as he watched her with that crooked grin on his face, his body hardening as he read her silent struggle, not for a single moment doubting his imminent victory.

Fuck.

She hadn't even made it to the sidewalk before she turned on her heel, stormed back across the yard, through his door and into his arms.

"This is absolutely the last time," she muttered, shoving him back into the bedroom, locking her lips to his, giving him the only the time to whisper a quiet response before words turned to whimpers, thoughts to animalistic groans, their bodies in such complete synch that not for a second were they denied the earth shattering pleasure that they each sought so desperately.

"Whatever you say, JoJo."

**~~~Fin~~~**


End file.
